“They did a quick in and out. Just enough to let us know they were here. Just enough to fuck with us.”
When I’m satisfied there’s no one in the main room, I check the new door we installed to find it locked, then join Sammie at the bar.
“Stay here, I’m gonna check the office and the bathrooms.”
She grabs the broom and dust pan. “Can’t believe I’m sweeping up more glass, and we haven’t even opened yet.”
I’m halfway down the hallway before what her words sink in. I push open the men’s room door and bang open the stalls. Empty. Women’s room. Empty. At the office door, I twist the knob, fling it open, step to the side, then lean around the doorjamb, gun drawn, and freeze.
The plywood we use as a table has toppled off the sawhorses, and the meat tenderizer I used as a gavel is on the floor, along with a smashed bottle of Jack and some shot glasses. My gaze rises, and my heart jacks up. “Rabid Dogs” is scrawled over the wall in spray paint.
I pull out my phone and call Shady, who had the first shift and should be outside. The phone rings three times before he answers, “Hey.”
“What the fuck is goin on?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Somebody trashed the office.”
“I’ve been checking both the back and the front since I got out here. I didn’t see anybody.”
“Well, the damn table didn’t turn itself over.” I swipe the call away, then right the table, stepping over the broken glass and a puddle of whiskey, purposely averting my eyes away from the wall.
When I get to the back door, I heave it open, then realize it wasn’t locked. I know it was locked when I went upstairs. I slam the door, lock it, then storm through the bar.
“What’s the matter?” Sammie calls after me.
I unlock and yank open the front door just as Shady lights his cig. He jumps, and I bellow, “The back door was unlocked.”
“Everything was locked up when I came out here,” Shady says. “I didn’t see anything.”
“That son of a bitch, Viper, sent one of his lackeys to fuck with us.” I barrel back through the door and head behind the bar, where I uncork the bottle of Blanton’s, pour a shot, and down it. Then it hits me. Whoever was here didn’t do a thorough job. Smashing some glasses, but not the booze. Wrecking the office and leaving their calling card on the wall. Like he’s sending me a warning of what’s to come.
Chapter Nineteen
SAMMIE
I finish sweeping up the broken glass, but Deuce is still pacing the floor like a caged lion on coke. Poor Shady got the brunt of his wrath, as Deuce raged on against the Rabid Dogs daring to enter their sacred chapel. After he exhausted himself, Deuce flipped out his phone and called all the Kings in for an emergency meeting.
I finish up behind the bar, but before I head upstairs, I stick my head in the office. My breath catches at the grotesque red spray paint scrawled across the wall—Viper’s way of sending a message. I close the door and go upstairs, creeped out that one of the Dogs was in the building without us knowing it.
Although I understand Deuce’s anger, the diversion saved both of us from making a colossal mistake. Another few seconds in my apartment and we would’ve definitely been in bed. Not sleeping. A risk with a man who can send my life straight to hell.
After jiggling and prying my door into a position where I can at least close it, I take a very hot shower, then pull on a clean sleep tee and shorts, and get into bed. As physically exhausted as I am, I can’t sleep. I reach for my phone, but even Candy Crushcan’t help me now, so I lie on my back in the dark and stare at the ceiling.
Bad idea since my brain keeps replaying Deuce cornering me against the kitchen counter. The scent of him, all male musk with a hint of leather and tobacco. Then my traitorous brain plays out a fantasy version of what would happen if we weren’t interrupted.
Since we already had sex, it’s not hard to imagine. My fantasy becomes so real, I finally give in, open my nightstand drawer, and pull out my trusty Rabbit. Thank you, Amazon delivery. Ten minutes later, I’m physically satisfied, but not mentally.
DEUCE
An hour later, we’re still around the plywood table trying to figure shit out.
Ace points to the spray paint. “We know it was Viper and the Dogs.” He slams his fist down so hard the plywood rattles under his hand. “So, what the fuck are we waiting for?”
I jerk my head to the wall. “I want that shit painted over tonight.”
“Those motherfuckers want a war. Let’s give it to them,” Shady bellows.
